Come Angels
by liberator of captured angels
Summary: What went through Lily's mind towards the end of her life? This story is my take on what she might have been thinking as she waited to die, and on how she and James cope.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters either featured or mentioned in this story, and no matter how much I hope to someday own it, I probably never will.

Okay, I'm not too sure about this story, but it's my first attempt at angst, so be nice.I also think it's a little short, but it's longer than most of the stories I've done before, so I'll stop complaining.

_Come Angels_

Lily Potter couldn't help staring out the window fitfully as she held her restless son. As much as she wanted to trust that Dumbledore's spell would protect them, she couldn't shake her presentiment that the end was near. She only hoped that Harry would be safe.

"Poor darling," she whispered to her finally sleeping son, who whimpered in his sleep. It was almost as if he'd caught the fear from his parents, and it was poisoning his dreams.

The most painful thing about her thoughts of her husband's doom and her own was the thought that she wouldn't be there to raise her son...wouldn't be there to ease his fears...wouldn't be there to kiss his grazed knee when he fell off his first bike...wouldn't be there to comfort him when his heart was broken for the first time...he would be alone through it all.

She couldn't let herself think that it might be her son who met his demise. If she allowed herself to think that way, she would break down and cry, and never stop. Better to worry about herself and her husband than to let thoughts of her baby's death cloud her battered heart any more than it already was.

Her only comfort at the idea of not seeing her son grow up was that he would be raised by Sirius Black, her husband's most trusted friend, Harry's godfather.

"_If he's still alive..._" she thought uneasily. She couldn't help the thought leaking through.

She didn't want to think of such things, but she knew Sirius had a point. He had been the obvious choice for secret keeper, but he managed to convince James that this might not be a good idea. After all, who _didn't _know that the person James loved most of all in the world-"_after himself, of course,_" she thought with a wry smile-was Sirius. She had long before accepted that if you married one, you married the other also, and you played second fiddle to the other.

The problem was, many others also knew this. And who better to guard the safety of James Potter than Sirius Black, his best friend in all the world? If someone on the other side happened to guess that Black was their secret keeper, they might inform Voldemort, who had terrible ways of making people confess all.

"I just don't see why it has to be Peter," she said, only half aloud.

Her husband walked in as she said this.

"Now honey, we've been over this," he reprimanded patronisingly.

"Oh, of course," she snapped, "Precious Sirius told you this was the best idea, so it _must _be right!"

He tried to touch her arm reassuringly, but she jerked it away from him. She just couldn't deal with him always taking his friend's advice, without thinking to ask her what _she _wanted for their son. Sometimes she felt as if she only served the purpose of bearing James children, and that he really wanted to be a bachelor, and live with Sirius and Remus, and live life as one great party.

Sometimes she felt like he just didn't _care._

She walked out of the room, on the verge of tears, half expecting James to follow her.

"_Bloody typical_," she thought when he didn't.

In her heart, she knew it was her fear for her son, and indeed James and herself, that made her irritable. Perhaps venting her powerful emotion as anger towards James was a safety mechanism. It stopped her feeling them for the duration of her outbursts; it helped her survive the awful pain.

Perhaps that was why he didn't retaliate, as he would have done when they were at school together. He may have sensed that this was just her way of coping, and didn't want to fight back in case he made it worse. He didn't seem to realise that that the best way of helping her to cope would be to retaliate. How could she fight someone who wouldn't fight her back? It just made her feel guilty, when he was being so nice. If he would fight back, she wouldn't be the bad guy anymore, and she could think of something other than her fears, if only for a little while.

She went into the bathroom, where they kept the tissues. She knew she would need them.

As she locked the door, she finally allowed herself to give way to tears. Crushed by her turbulent emotions, she sank to the floor and sobbed.

"Who's going to protect my baby now?" she appealed to some higher power.

She was never the most religious of women. Even as a girl she had never been, as her parents were atheists, and never taught their two daughters to believe either.

Nevertheless, Lily wanted to believe now, if only for her peace of mind. She could bear dying if she could be certain that her son would be safe from harm. She didn't know if she believed in a god as such, but she wanted to believe in angels. She wanted some powerful force to guard her baby from all the forces that were trying to hurt him.

"Please," she implored, "Come, angels. Save my baby. Even if it's too late for me. Even if it's too late for both of us. Please let my baby live. Let him be safe from all harm. And never let him forget me. Please!"

At this last plea, her composure was finally lost. She wept longer and harder than ever before, harder even than when her parents died in that fateful car crash.

Then at least she had the support of both Petunia and James, although that was when the two perpetually warring sisters began to really drift. She believed it had something to do with the fact that Petunia had always hated her for having the support of someone else, while Petunia had been more or less alone.

The two had never really gotten along, especially in their teenage years. Lily had always been jealous of her _normal _elder sister, and Petunia had never really connected with her younger sister. Lily had never been able to work out _why_, but she assumed Petunia thought herself better than her little sister.

_--------------------------------_

_...The two sisters walked side by side, yet not, as they were standing relatively far apart from one another. Tears stained their eyes. The younger of the two, a pretty redhead, had incredible almond shaped emerald eyes._

_She lifted her head slightly, her shoulder length hair hanging back from her shoulders, and saw a handsome young man around her age with messy black hair._

_Normally she would have ignored him, but she was deeply touched by his mark of respect. She left her sister's side and walked over to him. She missed the scowl on her blonde sister's face._

"_Hello Evans," he whispered._

"_Thank you," she replied._

"_What for?" he asked._

"_Being here," was her simple reply._

_She put her head on his chest as he placed his arm around her._

_--------------------------------_

After what would have seemed like an age had she been in a state to care, her sobs eventually subsided, as she had exhausted all the tears that would be shed this day. She felt deeply drained from her sobs, and exhaustion sank into her bones. She could barely keep her eyes open, and went to bed to rest her eyes...

When she woke up she could not tell whether it was night or day, as they had decided that although they must trust that Dumbledore's spell would work, they could not be too careful, and must keep the curtains closed so as not to advertise their whereabouts any more so than a possible spy might do.

Not that she thought Peter might be the spy. It would have required too much knowledge, something which Peter was sadly lacking in. she just couldn't be too suspicious. Even _James_ might be the spy, although she knew that was highly doubtful. She couldn't let speculation rule her head anyway, because although there were so many people it could be, it was also true that there were many _more_ people that it was _not. _Shecould only trust that her prayer would be answered, and that her son would be safe.

She walked downstairs with the aid of the candles of Gubraithian Fire, a housewarming present, so to speak, from Professor Dumbledore. She walked into the living room where there was a cradle for Harry (there was one in every room-they couldn't take any chances by leaving him alone).

As she stood in the threshold, she witnessed a beautiful scene which touched her heart. James held Harry in his arms, rocking the peaceful baby gently.

Perhaps her prayer would be answered after all.


End file.
